On Walden Pond

The third time is the charm in reading, as it seems to be in so many other aspects of life.

I've just begun my third trip through Thoreau's Walden, and this time, only ten pages in, it already feels like a long-lost friend I'm rediscovering.

The last time I read it was far too many years ago to count, and like the first time, was required reading.

This time is different. I've chosen to read it for a few of reasons:

1. It seems a natural extentsion of where my current interests lie, as I've also reconnected with Frost and Dickinson and early works of English poetry.

2. The longer I stay in Oklahoma, the more I long for someplace else.

3. It was free in the Kindle store.

And so I've plunged head-long into it again, and find myself discovering meaning where there was none (or very little) before.

Perhaps Walden, and books of its ilk, are best read when one has acquired the age and experience to appreciate it?

As a junior in a semi-rural high school who lived on ten acres of remote farmland, I was unimpressed.

But now, having spent the better part of nearly twenty years living in the rural-urban wasteland of Tulsa, Oklahoma, I feel myself longing for something more, something different...if I had a soul, it would be crying out for relief from the daily frustrations of the life I've created for myself here.

And how attractive the idea of packing up and moving away from it all! Of course, Thoreau's "roughing it" was hardly that - two miles from town, close enough to hear the train whistle, et. al. - but it's the very idea of stripping away the pretenses of civilization and living just for the sake of living that I find most attractive about it.

So I look forward to reconnecting with Thoreau's special brand of Transcendalism, looking the other way during his smug musings on the shortcomings of others, and letting his words surround me, searching for new meanings to words written over 150 years ago.

I'll Handle The 'Pretentious' Around Here

If I were to one day be named as a Playboy centerfold (not entirely out of the question, I can assure you), I can tell you my one big "turn off" would be pretentious Twitter users.

For one thing, I've already got that pretty well covered: www.twitter.com/sebenway 

More importantly, though, it's mentally taxing to put up with that shit. Just be yourself. Of course, if "yourself" is a pretentious jerk, then my apologies. Carry on.

My other big Twitter "turn off" is the mystery user. There's really no good reason to hide your identity on Twitter IF you're using it for personal communication.

I get that parody accounts and corporate sites need to maintain a certain level of anonymity. For example, @TacoBellTruck wouldn't be nearly as amusing to me if I knew who it was behind the tweets.

But if you're just some guy (or gal) tweeting for fun, why the mystery? Your parent(s) gave you a name for a reason. Until I learn differently, I'm going to assume you're either 1) not who you pretend to be, and ignore you, or 2) in WITSEC, in which case GET THE HELL OFF SOCIAL MEDIA, ARE YOU STUPID?!?!

By the way, in case you're curious - my biggest "turn on" would be people who tell me how funny I am. Or smart. Or good looking. 

I don't really care which - just pick one and sell it.

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To violently switch gears, I've rediscovered Robert Frost, thanks to Louis Untermeyer's commentary "Robert Frost's Poems" - special thanks to the one who pointed me back in that direction. Love you, too!

In Lieu Of Anything Meaningful

Random thoughts in lieu of an actual post (a skill I've learned from @EJComeau - not that I'm worried about naming names, she never reads my blog anyway):

-My mid-week fitness report, were I to give one, would look pretty said. The hour of hot yoga Bonnie had me do with her on Sunday is still messing me up. I followed it up with a two mile run later that day and 20 minutes on a treadmill yesterday - my thighs constantly ache, and I dread having to get up and walk anywhere. It'll get easier, I keep telling myself...

-My pet peeves are legion, but the ones that have stuck in my craw lately involve Twitter. I understand the need for some people to maintain a certain level of anonymity, but at least use a first name, even if it's a fake one. And if you insist on using some esoteric name like "Cinderella's Lost Slipper," don't be surprised if I don't engage with you. [If you're reading this, JJ, I'm NOT talking about you :) ]

-I have another Twitter-derived pet peeve, but it's so petty as to barely manage a mention. I can live with this one, and do one a daily basis.

-Speaking of social media, and electronic media in general, stop assuming that I know you've read my message. Some form of acknowledgement is greatly appreciated. My lovely wife is THE WORST at this, bar none. An "ok" or simple smiley or some other quick keystroke is all it takes, and I don't think it's asking too much.

-The Blacklist on NBC is a really good show. I'm no James Spader fan - I've hated him in everything I've seen him in. However, he totally makes this show. Sure, Megan Boone is nice to look at, but Spader is what makes this show worth watching.

-I feel like I should end this with something uplifting, but I'm sore so I'm not gonna. "Have a great week" is about all I can muster at this point.

-If you've made it this far, thanks for reading all of the preceding nonsense. I appreciate you - yes, YOU - most of all.

Hot Yoga

So, we are off and running.

Today Bonnie, Brooklyn and I decided to get our feet wet at the gym, so we took the hot yoga class at the Midtown Sky gym.

An hour of yoga in a 90 degree room.

I was not prepared.

The great thing about yoga is that, even in a large class - this one had about 40 women, five or six guys, and a fourteen year old kid - it's a personal endeavor. Your practice is your practice.

The downside is that an hour of yoga is hard.

Trey, our instructor, was great - wandering around the darkened room, calling out sequences, gently correcting poses - and both Brooklyn and I are looking forward to going again.

First, though, I have to make it through the upcoming week, which will include a couple of BodyPump classes and some cycling.

Assuming I can drag myself out of bed in the morning, that is.

Another New Start

Very busy birthday weekend for my teen daughter, but took the time amid all the hustle and bustle to make it official - we are now members of a gym, specifically Sky Fitness And Well Being.

We are planning on attending a hot yoga session after church tomorrow, just to get our feet wet, and then I'll begin in earnest with a combination BodyPump & S-Cycle class at 5:30 Monday morning.

Join me on my new fitness journey right here and on Twitter at @SEBenway!

How The Hell Did This Happen?

This picture was taken almost fourteen years ago:



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Know what's changed since then?

 

1. No way I'm ever fitting into those jeans ever again.

2. No chance any of that hair is coming back again.

3. Or will ever be that brown again.

4. That baby is celebrating her 14th birthday tomorrow.

 

Where did all that damn time go?

 

I remember her first steps, her first word, her first day of school, her first temper tantrum, her first "A," her first everything. Or, nearly everything.

 

Now, it's all a blur of old photos and video clips and Father's Day cards.

 

Sigh.

 

In four short months, I'll be 50. I can't even begin to wrap my mind around that.

 

I don't feel 50. I still feel like I'm in my 20's. Except, more and more, in the mornings when I drag my lazy ass out of bed and go downstairs to start the coffee I have to have before truly starting my day.

 

(If Bonnie were here, she'd interrupt me at this point to ask, "Then why do you act like you're 14 so much of the damn time?")

 

I still think of our house as "the new house," even though we've lived here for nearly five years. Bonnie's van is "the new car," even though it's nearly two years old now.

 

Did I loose the ability to perceive the passage of time at some point? Or have I become oblivious to it all? I'm leaning towards the latter. Things seem to run together so much of the time, and with three kids and only two of us, there seems to be an ever-present rush to get things done before it's too late and we have to turn the lights out for the night.

 

There's never enough time...maybe that's why? Perhaps I've just given in to the inexorable march of time, and I'm now just trying to make it through another day without everything falling apart.

 

That's sounds like as good a reason as any, I guess.

Requiem pour mon compte Facebook

In which I use a faux-French, Google-translated title and dubious logic to extoll the virtues of Twitter and mourn the passing of my Facebook account.

I've been asked a few times in the last couple of weeks why I deactiviated my Facebook account.

My answers have ranged from "I was overwhelmed" to "I've outgrown it" to "It was taking too much of my time" to "I'm not a thirteen year old girl."

All true reasons, to one extent or another.

Facebook, justifiably or not, carries a lot of baggage. It has its uses, sure, and came in handy more than once.

But looking at the big picture, it was the correct decision to let it go and move on.

Yet, I've remained on Twitter. And only partly because many of the people I enjoyed most on Facebook also hang out there.

Twitter is different than Facebook in the same way Burger King is different that McDonald's. They're both social media platforms (fast food burger joints) that cater to a quasi-specific crowd. Granted, Facebook (McDonald's) has a more ubiquitous appeal, and is certainly more used, if not better known.

I guess the bottom line is this, for me at least: Twitter is still cool, and Facebook ain't.

But do I miss Facebook? No, not really.

Facebook is really, primarily, a one-way street for most users. You post pictures, status, GIFs and memes then move on. There is a certain amount of engagement, but for the most part, it is a showcase for how fun/cool/funny/sad/pathetic/interesting a person's life is. Or rather, how fun/cool/funny/sad/pathetic/interesting they want you to think it is.

Twitter has much the same merits/limitations, but it is primarily conversation-driven. That is to say, engagement is the lifeblood of Twitter. And twitter forces you to be succinct, to say what you have to say in 140 characters or less (much less if you want to accompany your musing with pictures).

Just this week, I've engaged in conversations regarding privacy, gossip, gummy bears, Maslow's heirarchy, running, the weather, and a dozen other topics. I've spoken to local newspeople in the course of doing their jobs. I've interacted with people that I would have never had the chance to meet on Facebook.

And my life is richer for it.

Cheers!

I've started drinking my coffee black, more as a means to make my wife happy than anything else (don't ask). What I've found is that I actually prefer it that way.

I had no idea what I was missing - the aroma, the taste - until I abandoned all of the additives and just experienced the coffee.

I'm become very particular about it as well. I used to be happy to just walk into any ol' place because I was relatively certain I'd get the same faux-vanilla- or faux-hazelnut-flavored drink regardless of where I was.

Now I'm developing an internal list of preferences. QuikTrip - passable. Starbucks - okay but bitter, but then again I've always patronized them for the ambiance and cute baristas, and that won't change. McDonald's - food is still crap, but surprisingly good coffee.

Because I'm impatient, I always add (depending upon the size of the travel mug) an ice cube or three so I don't have to wait to drink it.

And that brings me to scotch, in a way.

I began to wonder, as I approach my silver anniversary in four months, what else have I been missing out on?

I've always been a light social drinker - beer, wine, an occasional Bailey's - but have always, with the exception of the rare rum-and-Diet-Coke, avoided the harder stuff. But, what if...?

So I came home from work one day last week, dropped a couple of ice cubes (see how it came around?) into a stem-less wine glass, and poured some scotch from our modest liquor cabinet into the glass.

Of course, it wasn't quite all that spontaneous. I had done a little research beforehand. The websites devoted to how to select, partake of, and appreciate all the various libations is legion - my iPhone Safari cache is evidence of that.

And I am well on my way to becoming the same sort of scotch snob that I've become regarding coffee - not quite a know-it-all, but certainly careening towards unbearably pompous.

I've got my eye on a $55 bottle of 15 year old scotch that I will buy as soon as I get the go-ahead from my wife.

Until then, I will continue to endure her snarky comments about my new passion (oh, poor me!) until she finds something else to ride me about. Ironically, another benefit of the scotch...

In the meantime - cheers to both my coffee-loving and scotch-loving friends!

And another thing...

I've almost completed one of those nifty "list" posts that I love reading on other blogs, but I'm a bit stuck. Not because of that post, but rather because of other things that happen around me to distract me from completing a single fucking thought.

Today's distraction is online courtesy.

That's a pretty popular theme, and if you've read one recently, it was most likely more eloquent and well-thought-out than this will be, so save yourself some misery and move on to the next thing you were going to do.

But for those of you who are staying for the whole show...

I'm not really one to call people out, and I hate naming names, largely because I've done some pretty awful shit in my fifty years and would hate to have fingers pointed at me every time I made a misstep.

To be as vague as possible while still making my point, I hate - HATE - how easy it is to be rude online. I could tell story after story about friends who've been flamed, or had horrible comments left on positive, uplifting blog posts, or any of a number of other things.

While walking with the kids yesterday, my nearly-fourteen-year-old daughter and I had an interesting discussion, which makes me think that at lease part of my issue is generational.

I had to nuke my Twitter account (well, I didn't HAVE to, but that's a story for another post) and as I was explaining what had happened to each person I re-followed who cared to hear about it, my daughter asked why I didn't just cut-n-paste the same message to each person that asked.

I explained to her how rude I thought that was - that each person deserved their own unique response. She didn't see it that way - she felt it would have been appropriate to copy-and-paste my response to each person that asked.

And that brings me to the current burr under my saddle - someone whom I thought I was better friends with than we apparently are inquired outside of Twitter what had happened, I explained it to them, and they made a joke (as they usually do).

And yet, nearly twenty-four hours later, they still haven't followed my new account.

Typing it out that like, it sure seems petty, but it's really the principal of the thing, I guess. Is there a message there? Is there a reason they haven't followed my new Twitter account? Do they think they have but really haven't? It could be any of a dozen, non-nefarious reasons.

But I'm reluctant to say anything - I don't want to come off as whiny. "Why haven't you followed me?" seems so pathetic. Also, I'm afraid that if DO say something and they really don't want to follow me, they will now feel pressured to do so.

So instead, I'll sit here and stew and whine passive-agressively on my blog.

And maybe pour myself another scotch.